Refuse To Be The Host - Part The Second

Sometimes, because the lies of patriarchy and of patriarchy's son, capitalism, are so loud, I forget, even though I should know better, that I am a node on a web. I forget that the work that I do is the same work and is part of the Great Work done by other Witches, by the wights and devas and ancient, unnamed spirits of this place, this bit of Earth, here in the Potomac watershed. I forget that I am joined in my love of Mother Earth by fairies, Ents, moles, and the fox who lives in a deep den on the high hill just to my South, by the squirrels just now having babies in their nests in the crape myrtle trees, by the robins who either returned too early or who never left and, even, by the bossy cardinal who thinks (too often correctly) he can control me from out on the deck.

And, then, sometimes, I get to sit outside, albeit in a coat and gloves and shawl, and watch the branches of trees dance in the wind, and watch the sun make shadows on the half-thawed land. And, then, I remember. And it is a great relief.